


Blackouts and Breakthroughs

by mmmh_hot_sauce



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Blackouts, College, Drama, Drama & Romance, F/F, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Games, Lesbian, Love, Love Confessions, Magic, No Lesbians Die, Romance, Witch - Freeform, Witches, kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 17:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmh_hot_sauce/pseuds/mmmh_hot_sauce
Summary: Tara's thought's from 'The I in Team' when Willow popped by
Relationships: Tara Maclay/Willow Rosenberg
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Blackouts and Breakthroughs

**Author's Note:**

> I had the song "What If" stuck in my head for about three days straight, which eventually lead to a very interesting dream, resulting in this fic you see before you now. Please bare in mind, this is my first time writing in a 1st person point of view, so there might be some discrepancies.

To say I was shocked to see her standing on the other side of my door would have put it mildly. I wasn’t expecting to see her tonight, to even hear from her. She had plans, told me so herself earlier this morning. That she was hanging with friends and it was a specific crowd. But here she was. Standing outside the door to my dorm room a little before midnight; twirling her fingers together nervously as a sheepish smile over took her delectable lips while she babbled about her prior social engagement falling through and irony being ironic.

My sleep muddled mind slowly processed the scene in front of me. I stood there for a few moments in the barely opened crack of the door, watching the beautiful specimen in the hall ramble on before it dawned on me that this was not a dream. With a wide brim smile, I swung the door open, nodding my head to the side, wordlessly inviting the redhead inside.

The game started out innocent enough after a blackout, one of many that week, had plunged my room and effectively the whole campus into darkness less than ten minutes after she had arrived. When minutes ticked away into an hour, I realized that the electricity wasn’t going to be returning anytime soon, and had suggested to my friend, no, crush, that we should play a game to pass the time. I don’t know why, but I had recommended a game from my past, one my brother had often played with me, well before the teasing and tormenting ever started. “Anywhere but here”. 

The game started off a bit hesitantly at first, Willow blushing adorably when she thought of her answer only to reply moments later with a stereotypical response. One that must have been well rehearsed. In Florence Italy, eating Ziti at a restaurant with John Cusack. I wondered what had caused the blush. What imagery had danced across the beautifully active brain of the computer hacker to cause her face to deepen in such a scarlet hue? I didn’t press however; well aware of what it was like to be on the receiving end of an embarrassing remark. Instead I continued on with the game, thinking up my own “Anywhere but here” scenario. 

As time progressed, I had been the one to be a little brasher, more forthcoming with my fantasy of where I’d rather be and whom with ... but only to a certain degree. I wasn’t trying to frighten away my newly acquainted friend with my wantonness after all. Or with the truth. That here, now, in this room I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Sure, we had been getting closer over the past three week, ever since our encounter with The Gentlemen. We had started hanging out regularly, finding reasons to touch one another’s arm or hand; even if only fleeting, and even on occasion, I’ve found ourselves openly flirting. But to say it out loud, to give voice to my budding feelings and biggest desire, and to possibly ruin the magicless spell that was currently happening, I just couldn’t. No, because just sitting in the dark with the charming redhead, giggling over the silliest of things was a moment I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. 

We continued playing the game for a while, eventually deciding that lounging on a beach in Malibu, free of any demonic activity, alongside Jennifer Aniston, whether it was with a book, a computer or even a drink of some sort in hand sounded like paradise in comparison to SunnyDale and all the monsters that inhabit its small city limits. With that game finished, we moved onto another childhood favorite, this one belonging to Willow. I sat there on the bed, watching with a bemused smile, the corners of my mouth twitching upwards as the girls emerald eyes sparkled with pure joy, her pale, freckled spattered hands moving about her animatedly as she recounted tales of her adolescents with her friends Jesse and Xander playing a game called “what if?”. I was still smiling my trademark lopsided grin, the one Willow pointed out as being “cute” two weeks ago, when I decided to reposition myself on the bed into a more comfortable position, motioning for Willow to start the game as I uncrossed my legs so that I was now sitting next to the fiery redhead rather than across from her. 

The first thing she asks me is what if the blackout ends in the next five minutes. It was something innocent, casual, and simple. But it caused my smile to falter a little but not enough for her to notice. If the blackout ends will we still hangout? Talk? Play these silly games? Or will she head back to her own dorm room with better plans in mind?

“What if it never ends?” I say back coyly, secretly wishing we never have to leave this room, this bed. 

Without missing a beat I notice she has another response ready to go, lingering on the tip of her tongue. How I wish to taste that tongue. As soon as the thought had appeared in my head it was gone, Willow’s angelic voice, calling to me like a sirens song, lulling me back into the real world.

We continue on this way for a while. Simple statements of pure fantasy, nothing extravagant. I had asked “what if class was cancelled tomorrow” and nearly snorted when the look of sheer dread crossed the redhead’s expressive features. When I had informed her I was only joking, she lovingly swatted my arm before going off in a tirade of how important education was for the growing mind even if it meant suffering through hours of lectures in uncomfortable plastic chairs. All I could do was smile back at her, rubbing the spot on my arm where her fingers had brushed across, savoring the feeling. When she finally stopped to catch her breath … or maybe it was to reflect on her progression of thinking, I threw out another “what if” this one sure to make her smile. All I wanted to do was see her smile. ” What if it snows this Christmas too?”

Sure enough, the smile that ensued was magnificent. If we hadn’t already been using magic, the fairy lights hanging above our heads casting the small room in a soft, golden glow, I’m sure that Willow’s nine volt smile would have illuminated the whole area. It was the type of smile that could brighten up a room and anyone fortunate enough to be in it. It was infectious, I found myself grinning back at her. 

So caught up was I in her smile, that if it hadn’t been for the ricketing of the poorly manufactured furniture we lounged about, I wouldn’t have noticed Willow’s tiny frame wiggling in excitement, her voice giddy with childlike mirth as she stated next “What if two candy bars fell from the vending machine after only putting one dollar in?” I had to stifle my chuckle, not because I was laughing at her, but because of how adorably cute I thought the whole situation was at the moment … of how adorably cute I thought she was at the moment. At every moment, if I was to be honest. But just then. That little dance of excitement, the jovial tone of her voice. Cute. 

I thought this game of “what if” we started was supposed to be trivial, mind numbingly simple, a means to pass the time until one of us eventually drifted off to sleep, cradled close in the other’s arm much like in recent nights passed. I say something, you say something, I say something, and then you say something. Just something to do while the power was out during the late night hours that helped us better get to know each other. But somewhere down the line, our childish game of “what if” transformed into an adult manifestation of our greatest fears and somehow turned into a game I’m dubbing, worst case scenarios.

Somehow we got onto the topic of magic. On any given day I would be more than happy to discuss magic with Willow, to throw in my two cents, give my personal input on the matter, but not tonight. No, instead, I braced myself as I watched a whirlwind of emotions sweep across Willow’s face, her eyebrows twitching uncontrollably as if manipulated by a puppeteer. I think my heart broke a little for her when she said her next “what if’s”. The words were laced with self-loathing and so faint, as if she didn’t really mean to say them out loud. But she did. And I had heard them as clear as church bells. “What if my magic never advances? What if I mess up another spell and Buffy gets hurt?” I just sat there listening, processing, and internally responding. 

Now I sit on my bed, helpless as I stare at the woman I’m starting to fall head over heels for. God how I wish I could rub the spot between her brows and smooth the furrow away, to ease her pain. I internally debate with myself, playing my own game of ‘what if’. What if I just pulled her close, what if I leaned in? Instead, I listen attentively to her worst case scenarios of “what if’s”. They seemed to be changing swiftly, her breathing quickening as her train of thought railroads off track, colliding into a wall of despair. I wanted to interrupt but I was at a loss for words. What do you say when the woman of your dreams states “What if Buffy doesn’t need me anymore?” I want to tell her that ‘I need you’ but I don’t want to come off as clingy so instead I just sit there, silently, listening. It’s then that I realized I’ve stopped participating in the Game. I wasn’t exactly sure at what point, or at what statement but something she had said had caused me to stop participating. 

“What if I’m never good enough for anyone?” Just like before, Willow’s train of thought had jumped ship and I can’t keep up. In fact, I’m pretty sure we are no longer on a train and are now standing heavy footed on a sinking boat without any life preservers. I tried to scrape together fragments of the girl’s ramblings but I’m stuck with only bits and pieces. She’s so proficient in the art of babbling. She’s mastered it years ago and I am just now picking up starter classes. For the briefest of moments I’m not sure if we are still talking about Buffy or if we’ve moved on to Oz, a name that hasn’t passed her lips in almost three weeks. My heart breaks again at the notion that she might not be over him and therefore not into me. But that feeling soon passes and a new wave of uneasiness washes over me as her voice, soft, broken, and beaten down assaults my ears again. “What if you break my heart in two then what?”

I want to sooth her, to pull her into a tight hug and run my fingers through her red silky hair. I have this overwhelming need to comfort her right now, to dismantle all of her fears. To tell her everything is going to be okay. All I can think is “What if I was made for you and you were made for me” the words keep repeating themselves over and over again in my head like a mantra.

But the girl continued on, asking “what if this goes south?” I can only imagine she’s implying us and whatever it is that has been transpiring between us over the past month. Her seaweed green eyes appear vacant as she looks down at her own hands, her fingers picking absently at the fabric of my blanket covering her lap. I tried getting her attention, ducking my head to meet her soulful eyes but she refuse to look at me. It was then that I realized that her lips were trembling, I hadn’t realized before, but they are quivering as she huskily breath out her next statement, a tear dripping from her eye to land on her fidgeting digits. She says slowly, a long drawn out breath staggering the words, “what if I hurt you … what if you leave me”. All I can do was wonder, have you imagined our life together? How long have you been thinking about us as an ‘us’? Why do you think you’d hurt me or that I would ever toy with the idea of leaving you? I just found you! Where were all these inquiries coming from?

With my own questions rapidly firing one after the other in quick succession in regards to her remark about her hurting me or me leaving, several ‘what if’s’ started to trickle their way through my own subconscious. What if this is it. What if I admit to her how I feel, how I have felt? What if it's meant to be and all the stars line up and it's our last first kiss? 

I come out of my reverie only to be ambushed by a tirade of vocabulary. Willow’s statements were coming too fast now. An onslaught of questions my mind didn’t have enough time to formulate an answer to. My mouth parts ever so slightly to speak but no words come out. I don’t think it would have mattered if any did; she was already onto her next train of thought. The words sting, my eyes prickle with unshed tears as she asks in a quivering tone, “What if you find somebody else and you don't need me”.

Damn

I want to shout back, grab her by the shoulders and shake her, while telling her all the ‘what ifs’ swirling through my own mind but it feels like my limbs are being weighted down. I want to tell her how I truly feel about her. I want to tell her “What if I loved all these what ifs away” but I’m anchored to my spot as if cement has replaced all the blood in my body and I can no longer physically move. All the words are swiveling together and nothing is making sense anymore. Formulating a sentence seems too complicated to even comprehend.

“What if?”. I eventually say, my voice scratchy, sounding foreign even to my own ears as I speak for the first time in what felt like hours. I left the sentence hanging, the question attached to the two words feeling heavy, weighing the already suspenseful conversation down. I realize my two words have broken through the redheads one-sided monologue, her bright green eyes are starring into mine, pleading, begging for acceptance.

Gently, I rested my right hand over her fidgeting fingers, halting their anxious movements. Cupping the digits, I pulled her hands from where they rested on her lap and brought them to mine, effectively rotating her body ever so slightly. With my free hand, I brushed a stray strand of copper hair behind her ear, the tips of my finger grazing across her jawline in the process. I lazily smile as her body shuddered under the contact, her cheek purposely nuzzling my palm as she tilted her head into the embrace. I don’t know what made me do it. Possibly the distraught look in her eyes, the image I’m sure reflecting back in my own. Or maybe it was the fact that I had been dreaming about this moment for a month now, but I lean forward, ever so agonizingly slow. 

I closed my eyes and melted into her touch as my whole body was consumed by our first kiss as our lips tentatively brushed against one another’s. I felt something melt inside me that hurt in an exquisite way. All my longings, all my dreams and sweet anguish, all the secrets that slept deep within me came awake. Everything was transformed and enchanted, everything made sense. 

I was nothing. I was everything. Chills ran over my skin and a fire burnt deep inside of me. As her body pressed closer to mine, I moved my hand from her cheek and wrapped it around her neck, pulling her in. Her lips were warmer and softer than anything I could have imagined, yet fierce and powerful at the same time. Mine responded hungrily, and I tightened my hold on her, every place our skin touched was electric.

After what felt like centuries, I pull away from her, my body immediately screaming at the loss of contact, already addicted to her touch. I lean forward, placing my forehead against hers as I try to regain some semblance of composure while still remaining in some form of contact with her body. My breath is coming in heavy, raged breaths shake my chest as I gingerly reach my hands up to cup her angelic face. I gently caress her jawbone as thoughts flood my mind. I couldn’t help but wonder if all of her ‘what ifs’ had dissipated. If the reassurance of my lips pressed against hers, my hands holding her close or the realizations that I had no intentions of going anywhere have helped ease some of her doubts. As I pulled back from her just a little, enough to make eye contact, I looked into her ardent embers and thought of my last what if for the evening.

What if one of these days, baby, I’d go and change your name.

THE END


End file.
